


Gazing At Stars & Other Far Off Things

by disalae



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disalae/pseuds/disalae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble collective, Mass Effect Universe. There may be spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Liquor Bottles & Fancy Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> me_challenge: fancy

Kaidan’s Citadel apartment is anything but fancy, but he’s dressed in a nice suit with a bottle of wine open and some soft music playing, so it’s not that bad of a scene. After all, if they’re going to down this whole thing to help them get through a night of schmoozing with the likes of Udina and the Alliance brass, they’re going to do it in style.

Shepard sulks as she looks at herself in the mirror, turning from side to side and running her hands down over her hips and stomach compulsively. Around her eyes is the faintest hint of black, on her lips the faintest bit of shine, and her hair no longer looks like it spent the last few hours with his hand twisted in it. All in all it’s a far cry from the woman who earlier this evening was wearing nothing but one of his shirts and a smile, even though he’ll admit he’s quite partial to that look too.

“Kaidan, you know I hate this shit, right?”

Yeah, he knows. “I’m sure it won’t be so bad.”

A celebration in their honor, says the invitation. Well, mostly in _her_ honor, the Savior of the Citadel, but the rest of the crew were all invited too which was nice of them. It’s funny though, seeing as the one person who wants to go the least is the only one who can’t get out of it.

Not that she hasn’t tried, mind.

She starts to fidget with the neckline of the dress she’s wearing; a classy, pretty navy blue thing that hugs her in all the right places. Well, all of the right places for _him_ , anyway. _She_ looks as uncomfortable as a Krogan would in the same getup, pulling and tugging at it mercilessly. 

Wordlessly he hands her the bottle, and she takes a giant swig. It dribbles a little out of her mouth, and she wipes it away sloppily with the back of her hand before passing it back to him. “I can’t believe they won't let me wear my blues.”

(Okay, so he may have lied a little about the dress code of the party, but it’s a _party_ , not a briefing. Besides, what she doesn’t know…well, he just hopes she never finds out.)

The bottle tastes like her mouth when he takes a drink of his own. “I think you look hot.”

“I can tell,” she says, rolling her eyes. What, was he staring with his mouth open or something? “I look like I should be dancing at Chora’s Den.”

His laugh is more like a bark than anything else. “Okay, now you’re just being dramatic.”

“I _do_.”

“Well, I know you’re not used to this kind of thing, but you’re wrong,” he shrugs, eyeing her up and down. He hates when she gets like this. If she’s not in full armor it’s like she’s back in primary school, afraid of getting picked on by all of the cool kids. 

She glares at him, a glimpse of the Commander under all of that Shepard. “Watch it, or I’m going to start to hate _you_.”

Kaidan just shakes his head and motions for her to turn around. “Here, let me zip you up.”

With a defeated nod she turns around for him, holding her hair out of the way as he pulls the up zipper. When his fingers reach the nape of her neck they linger, grazing the soft skin he finds there before letting his hands come to rest on both of her biceps. She leans back into his touch, her scent pouring over him, and he gets that feeling again where he’s pretty sure he’s not worthy of any of this.

“You’ll protect me tonight, right?” she says with a twisted little grin, swaying to the music in the completely wrong tempo. She turns to face him, her fingers sliding down to hook on the belt loops of his trousers. “You know I can’t do this stuff alone.”

Yeah, of course he will. Come politicians, geth, or reapers, he’ll be there. “I’ve got your back, you know that. Always.” 

Lips press delicately against the hollow of his throat, and when she speaks he hears desperation in her voice. “Even from Udina?”

He laughs, one hand pressed against her cheek as he kisses her temple roughly. “I’ll do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh the fluff. Guess I was just feeling angsted out after the ending. Anyway, I might just end up making this chaptered with all of my little drabbles from challenges and whatnot, so if the title changes, that'd be why. Thanks for reading!


	2. Hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> me_challenge: Hair, EDI

“Commander!”

“Lieutenant Commander Williams, I must request that you stay still or you will injure yourself.”

“ _Commander_.”

Shepard walked into the mess, datapad in hand and a stylus between her teeth, and surveyed the situation. Ashley Williams was sitting at the table chomping away at some particularly tasteless looking slop with a scowl on her face, and the reason for that scowl was behind her - EDI, dressed in a pair of BDUs she’d taken from...somewhere, had her hands tangled in Williams' hair.

“Oh,” Shepard said unenthusiastically. “I told her to do that.”

“You _what_?” Ashley yelled, yanking her head forward, and then immediately yelped in pain when EDI’s grip did not falter. Her scowl returned. “Why they hell would you tell her to do that?”

Shepard pulled the stylus out of her mouth and pointed at EDI. “She wants to learn human behavior, so I told her to get to know the crew better one on one.”

"This is correct," EDI interjected with a small nod.

Williams started to speak, but Shepard cut her off. “And _you_ ,” she continued, pointing at Williams’ head, “need to keep your hair out of your damn eyes. And if you won’t do it yourself, she will. Are we clear?

Williams’ eyes were hard, but she looked resigned. “Yes ma’am.”

Shepard shook her head and walked out of the room, later coming across Williams on the observation deck, nursing a drink and looking at the stars with the most perfect french braid she’d ever seen.


	3. Gunshot Lullaby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Me_Challenge Prompt: Gunshots

It’s just a scratch, he says.

But nothing is _just_ a scratch. Not for her.

Tali can see the dust in the air, and smoke curling around buildings. The architecture is alien and familiar all at once (she remembers that tower, the one with the clock on it, from one of the old vids she’d snuck from Shepard’s cabin). Beautiful, she thinks. Or at least it must have been. She’d always wanted to visit Earth after seeing those, but...but not like this.

She looks down at her hand, sees a faint streak of blood. Tries to slow her breathing but it just keeps getting faster. Feels guilt, heavy in her chest, because Shepard wasn’t scared on Rannoch, and Tali shouldn’t be scared here on Earth. Have to be strong, always.

Except she’s not, not right now.

(It’s just a scratch, he says, but there's _blood_ and--)

No, right now? She’s scared.

Then there’s the crack of a rifle next to her, precise and efficient. The sound of impact comes next, and along with it the crack of bone and the sickening thunk and splatter of flesh.

She sighs in relief.

Then she has to laugh (though it's barely more than a huff of breath, honestly), because if anyone had told her as a child that gunfire and sounds of death would calm her down, she would have called them crazy.

But it does, even if it’s just a little. And that hand on her shoulder, giving a light squeeze before it snaps back to reload?

Yeah, that helps too.


	4. Miscommunications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ME Challenge prompt: Herder of Sheep

The room is decontaminated. The lights are low. The suit is off.

This is getting real.

Shepard can see that Tali is nervous, but about what he’s not sure. I mean, this isn’t exactly their first time at the rodeo. First time without the threat of reapers though, so that’s something. Makes everything seem a little less...urgent.

Not that he isn’t urgent.

But she’s doing something different now, something unexpected. She puts her hand to her ear and carefully disengages her translator, setting in on the bed beside them. Shepard’s eyes track the movement, before snapping back up to meet her eyes. “Tali, what are you doing?”

She takes a moment to process before speaking. “Want to,” she begins, then looks away and begins to twist her hands in thought. Her voice is softer without the translator, even if it seems like forming the words is a great difficulty. “Want to say, in your,” a pause, “in _your_ words.”

Shepard nods, cradling her face with his hand (it’s so nice to feel _skin_ , not fabric or armor), and she leans into his touch. He didn’t even know she’d been practicing English; he’ll need to start on his Quarian. “Well, I’m honored, Tali.”

Tali smiles, seeming a bit flustered. “Want to say...”

He senses hesitation, like the action is weighing on her. “Go ahead.”

“Want to say, that,” she reaches out to grab his hand, her voice sounding a bit choked, “that I love you, herder of sheep.”

Shepard coughs to hide a laugh, a smile tugging desperately at his lips. Don’t. Laugh. “I’m sorry, what did you call me?”

Tali looks mortified, scrambles to grab at her translator and puts it back in place in a flash. “Oh Shepard, what did I say? Did I say something terrible? I should have practiced more, I--”

“Tali,” he grabs a shoulder in one hand and her jaw in another, turning her to face him. He forces a serious look on his face for effect. “You called me a sheep herder.”

She wilts, and despite his grip turns her gaze from his. “The translations were all different, it was so difficult to know if I was hearing it right and if what I was saying was being translated right, to be honest I don’t even know what a sheep _is_ and--”

“Tali,” he repeats her name, pulling her face so she’s looking at him again, and gives her a smile. “I love you too.”

She narrows her eyes, a frustrated little huff escaping her lips, but smiles none the less.


	5. Long Time Since I've Seen Something Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Focus. Warning for violence.

Shepard is fifteen, and the boy who's been assigned to teach her to shoot this thing better is at her side, speaking to her in hushed tones.

“There can be beauty in killing, you know,” he says quietly, and she feels her stomach roll. It’s not that she’s ever really had a problem with the idea of killing another person; she more than anyone understands what dire circumstances can mean. But it’s not a beautiful thing.

“Now just _breathe_ ,” he whispers.

She steadies the rifle, long and slender and beautiful to her even though she can tell its seen better days. Evens out her breathing and focuses on the target in front of her. Holds her breath, lines up the scope, exhales on the trigger pull and nails the makeshift dummy right between the eyes.

Killing’s not so beautiful, she thinks, but that _was_ a pretty shot.

Shepard is twenty-nine, or thirty-one, she doesn’t quite know. Doesn’t really like to think about it, actually. But anyway, she’s twenty-nine, or thirty-one, and the sound of a banshee wail cracks through steady hum of moans and gunfire surrounding her.

Paired with the wail of the banshee is the scream of a soldier. A man unidentifiable in his armor kicks helplessly at the air, the banshee’s fingers wrapped around his neck as it runs its claws down his face. Husks bite at his legs and rip at his armor.

Shepard knows what it’s like to die a slow, painful death. Knows what it looks like when someone else is about to do the same, too.

Her rifle is steady, the target is scoped and her breathing is calm. The banshee knocks the boy’s helmet off his head, and Shepard sees how young he really is. Finds herself wanting to know the kid’s name and promises herself that after the war she’ll find out.

Ha, _after_ the war. Almost makes her laugh, that.

Inhale. Focus.

Blood runs out of the boy’s ears as the banshee wails once more.

Exhale.

The boy slumps instantly in the banshee’s grip, and it drops him into the pile of husks as if disappointed. They lunge at him greedily, feasting on the corpse like animals, and when a hail of gunfire takes out the banshee as well they take to her corpse just the same.

There is no beauty in any of this.

But damn if it wasn’t a pretty shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some edits from the original, because I'm kind of dumb. Nothing that actually affects the story, though. But you might notice some name changes. It also may not make any sense because it's been so long since I played the earthborn missions I don't even remember what the hell happened in them SO WHATEVER JUST ENJOY THE BLOODSHED.


	6. Boomerang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Boomerang.

There were times when he felt so close, like the hum of her own biotics under her skin or the heavy feel and heat of a weapon in her hands. Like something tangible. Like something that was _hers_. Virmire. Ilos. Early morning drifting over Alchera. Shepard keeps telling herself that it feels like a lifetime ago because it _was_ , but the idea doesn’t seem to want to stick.  
  
But the thing that does stick is that she loved him. Loved him like she was in one of those old romance movies her parents made her watch, despite the warnings on her mother's lips about how true romance was dead.  
  
Then there were times when he felt so far he’d might as well not even exist at all. She’d sometimes stare at the ceiling of her Vancouver cell, two parts angry and one part lonely, rubbing the scar on her thumb (a permanent reminder of a picture frame shattered on the way to the Omega-4 relay) and wondering bitterly what better things he had to do.  
  
She may have loved him once, but at that moment? She hated him. Hated him like she’d hated her father during her darkest moments of boot camp, the taste of blood in her mouth and muscles exhausted from strain, for being such a good soldier that he’d convinced her to enlist too. She could have been on a beach somewhere instead, you know? Fuck.  
  
It’s at this far distance that Kaidan feels now, leaning against the glass of the observation deck. He’d might as well be out there in the stars he’s staring at, given the amount of times he’s even bothered to look at her since she walked in. Which is none, if she’s keeping track.  
  
She entertains the thought of just leaving, of keeping this grudge she’s got and using the anger to push through what she’s got to do, and then being just _done_. But then she sees him shift slightly, his eyes moving to glance at her nervously before snapping back to the window, and the idea fades. Maybe she’s just getting too old for that kind of thinking, or maybe it’s the thought that she’s probably never actually _going_ to that’s more troubling. Get old, that is.  
  
So instead of walking away she walks close, grabs his arm to force him to look at her, and says in a voice that barely sounds like hers, “I’m glad you’re back.”  
  
The twitch at the side of his mouth might as well have been a beaming smile, all things considered. “Hm,” he nods, a ghost of a laugh in his voice, and just like that the current changes and it’s like he never really left. “Me too.”  
  
Yeah, she loves him, just like her mother warned her not to. Loves him even though romance is dead just like they’re good as dead too. Loves him like those black and white images flashing on a screen and bathing her and her mother in flickering light did, before the credits rolled.


	7. Blindside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I'll stay. Some NSFW language.

Reload. Scope. Breathe. _Thunk_.  
  
That dummy never knew what fucking hit it. Nothing ever did, not with her. That’s what she did best, and she knew she was good at what she did.  
  
 _She_ did this. _She_ was unexpected, she was what blindsided. The other way around just doesn’t _happen_.  
  
So yeah, she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t imagining a particular face on the dummy right now.  
  
“Whoa there, Lola,” a familiar voice echoed from across the lower bay. “Don’t go blowin’ holes into the side of this thing, Joker might break a bone beating the shit out of you.”  
  
Shepard snorted, reloaded, and fired off another shot. It hit the hull of the Normandy dead on. “They’re blanks, James, I could shoot them at _you_ and all you’d get’d be a welt.”  
  
He must have noticed the flash of an idea across her face, because he cut her off before she could even ask. “No. No way I’m gonna let you do that, I don’t care how bad your day was.”  
  
Bad day didn’t even begin to describe it. She would have punched Jacob in the face if she hadn’t needed him functional. It’s not that she loved him. Or even if she had, that wasn’t the point. No one pulled that shit, not on her. She blindsided. It was not the other way around.  
  
Six months she was in jail. Six. Months.  
  
Guess it was better to know sooner rather than later, she figured.  
  
She gave James a dismissive nod, then turned her sights back to the dummy.  
  
A few moments later, she could feel he still hadn’t left. When she spoke, she didn’t mean for her voice to sound as irritated as it did: “Did you need something, Lieutenant?”  
  
If her calling him by rank bothered him... well, it obviously did. It was written all over his face. “Just,” he began, biting the inside of his lip. “Just wanted to make sure you were alright. For real. ‘Cause that was--”  
  
“Fucked up.” It wasn’t a question.  
  
He blinked. “Yeah.”  
  
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” she snapped, before firing off another shot. She could practically _feel_ him tensing. Jesus Christ, it was like fucking psych 101 around here sometimes. “Look, James, it’s not you I’m angry at. I’m just not good with this shit. So, sorry.”  
  
He shrugged. “It’s alright, I get it.”  
  
When he didn’t make any move to leave, she let out a great, heaving sigh. “Would you like to fire off a shot?” Shit. “I mean, the rifle.”  
  
He laughed, but the blush on his face was almost purple. “Yeah, sure, I’ll try. This is that geth sniper rifle, right?”  
  
“Yeah, Legion’s,” she explained, gesturing for him to go prone where she had been. “It packs a hell of a kick, but the punch is just as good.”  
  
He nodded, then settled in. “Thanks for leaving the ground warm for me, Lola.”  
  
Shepard rolled her eyes, then let out an embarassingly loud shout of a laugh when he missed by almost ten feet.  
  
“Damn,” he said, squinting to view his horrific shot. “Well, there’s a reason I don’t use these things.”  
  
“Practice makes perfect,” Shepard shrugged, but motioned for him to get out of the way nonetheless.  
  
But he didn’t move, not an inch. Instead just sat there, leaning back on his heels, staring at her like they were at a damn sleepover and he was about to tell her his most embarassing secret.  
  
“Yeah?” she asked, crossing her arms.  
  
“I’d never do that,” he blurted like it was out of his control. Continued like he couldn’t stop the flow of words. “I wouldn’t just abandon you, like he did. I’d -- I’d stay.”  
  
Shepard swallowed hard, blinked, and prayed to whatever the fuck was still listening to her nowadays that her face wasn’t as red as his.  
  
He couldn’t keep eye contact. “I just thought you should know.”  
  
“Just,” she started, running a hand through her hair. What the fuck was this? More importantly, why was she reacting like _this_. “Just let me shoot my damn rifle in peace.”  
  
“Okay, Lola. Alright. But,” he started, but then seemed to reconsider. “Okay. I’ll see you around.”  
  
After the door closed behind him, she steadied her rifle with shaking hands. Scoped. Shot. Missed by nearly a foot.  
  
Shit.


	8. Prayers for Those Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: what could have been. ashley on virmire.

When the radio goes silent and the last salarian beside her drops dead at her feet, she has a vision like the snap of a whip, loud and fast and unwelcome. It’s her and her sisters, sitting on the floor eating junk food in their pajamas, talking about everything and nothing at all. Their laughter is easy but rough, voices tired. It's so nice to see them again, after everything.  
  
But no...no, she's not in her pajamas. No, now she’s in her dress blues, medal upon medal pinned upon her chest as the walls of her family house melt away to show a crowd cheering for her. Commander Ashley Williams has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? On her left are Shepard and Kaidan and the rest of the crew, to the right her family and they just look so _proud_ , and then she looks back to her left--  
  
Silence falls as her blues turn to white, into a gown long and delicately beaded that she feels so unlike herself in. But it's okay because _he’s_ there, right there, smiling and waiting for her to just say those two words.  
  
A child cries in her arms, and she finds herself praying for its health and happiness. God, but how much her daughter grows up to look like her.  
  
Sunsets from a rocking chair, his hand in hers.  
  
Then there is a flash of white with not a sound to go along with it, and she doesn’t see anything at all.


	9. Love & Other Childish Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: act like adults. Femshep/Kaidan, ME3 timeline

It’s late, or so it seems - they’ve been out in deep space long enough that time doesn’t really seem to matter all that much anymore. But nearly everyone’s asleep and they’re down to a skeleton crew, so for all intents and purposes, Shepard is up way later than she should be.  
  
As she shoves her nose in the fridge to rummage for something to eat, a voice pipes up behind her: “Not a whole lot here, huh?”  
  
She doesn’t need to turn around - she knows exactly who it is. “No, Kaidan, not really.” She stands up and closes the door of the fridge and moves over to the cupboard, pulling down things that could possibly be made into food. Flour. Jam. Canned beans. Anything to keep her hands busy, really.  
  
Even if he weren’t biotic she has a feeling she’d be able to feel him closing in on her. When he speaks again, his voice feels like it’s inside her head. “Didn’t know you could cook.”  
  
“I can’t,” she snaps, the lid of the container popping off and a puff of flour billowing out to punctuate.  
  
Kaidan sidles up beside her and looks at what she has laid out in front of her. His eyes wander over the mismatched ingredients and he absentmindedly traces his finger through the spilled flour, a smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Yeah, I guess that’s pretty obvious.”  
  
Then he wipes his finger on her arm like it’s the most natural thing in the world, a white stripe like war paint left behind and a feeling of burning lingering even after his touch leaves. Shepard feels like her tongue has gone numb.  
  
It’s just flour, she thinks, looking down at the smudge.  
  
Except, well, it isn’t just flour. Not really. It’s a year of feeling abandoned, and then feeling guilt because, let’s be honest, she did the abandoning first. It’s a the glow of her console keeping her up at night, a response to a message sitting open for days before she finally deleted it with stupid, shaking hands. It’s Mars again, where she’s imagining having to pick up pieces of his skull off the ground just like she picked up pieces of the picture frame she’d shattered the night before the Omega-4 relay jump.  
  
It’s a lot more than just flour and a playful gesture like everything is _normal_ and--  
  
The tin of flour is in her hand and then out of it and slamming into his chest before she even has time to process how childish of an action it is.  
  
It’s a pretty flimsy tin, but it's not a kind throw. It hits him square in the chest with a _thud_ , flour pinwheeling out of the container as it flies and finally coming shooting out in one large atomic cloud.  
  
Feeling unfocused and utterly naked, her fingers starts itching towards the jam for no reason other than to have something in her quaking hands. But he takes it as a threat, as he's trained to, and in an instant grabs her wrists with his hands and pins them down on either side of her, palms biting into the edge of the table. He’s close, closer than he’s been to her in years, pushing against her to keep her still. She’s struggling against his grip because it’s what _she’s_ been trained to do, but her heart’s not into it.  
  
A fine white mist has settled on him and her and the kitchen, and she’s breathing like they’re in battle. Or bed.  
  
Her breathing slows and she releases her grip on the jam. It falls to the floor with a _clink_. “I needed you.”  
  
It's barely words; more an exhale of a breath held far too long.  
  
His forehead falls to rest against hers, but he can’t look her in the eye. “I know.”


	10. Now Settle Down, Find Shapes in Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: I'm okay. FemShep/Kaidan. Post-game, but no spoilers.

A four word sentence Kaidan figured he’d never hear:  
  
The war is over.  
  
A two word kickstart to his heart already twice dead:  
  
She’s okay.  
  
-*-  
  
Shepard’s herself, for the most part.  
  
Though, she can’t shoot anymore, not with that arm. Her voice has a constant hoarseness, like all the fight has been shouted out of her, and her confident stride is interrupted by a stilted limp.  
  
But she’s got some color back on her cheeks from hours spent in the sun, and sometimes when he looks at her, she smiles.  
  
Yeah, she’s okay.  
  
-*-  
  
People are careful around her. They don’t let her lift anything heavy, or walk too much, or try holding a weapon even if her hands are itching for one. But she keeps going to the meetings anyway, her nails bitten to nubs and bleeding after each one.  
  
“You’re a war hero,” Kaidan explains when she comes in ranting that everyone is treating her like an invalid. “You don’t have to worry about this stuff anymore, no one expects you to.”  
  
“Did anyone even think to ask what I wanted? What if I dont want to be, to --” she starts, exasperated, before cutting herself off and disappearing with a huff out the front door into the dark of night.  
  
She doesn’t ever finish that sentence, not to him anyway, but Kaidan can fill in the blanks well enough himself.  
  
-*-  
  
Reapers are nothing compared to the test with the two pink lines and a flashing YES YES YES sitting in her all too still hands. Soldier’s hands, always steady.  
  
“Are you...” he starts, his hand brushing against hair (finally grown back) as he puts an arm around her. “Is this...”  
  
“Yeah,” she interrupts, shaking her head. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”  
  
-*-  
  
Damn if she doesn’t look just like him, her, them, wailing and screaming in her mother’s all too steady arms.  
  
(He tries to tell himself that she spends more time looking outside the windows than at their new daughter because, because...)  
  
He shakes his head, and falls asleep sitting in the chair next to the two of them with his hand laced in hers.  
  
-*-  
  
After work one day Kaidan comes home to find Shepard sitting on the floor next to their bed, eyes unfocused and gazing out the skylight at the stars above, entranced. Her shirt is stained with pureed food and her feet are tucked under a pile of unfolded clothes at her feet.  
  
The baby is crying in her arms.  
  
“Sorry,” she says the minute he walks in, snapping out of her thoughts. She looks around at the mess in defeat. She doesn't even pretend this is anything but what it is. “I guess this just isn’t where I thought I’d be.”  
  
“You thought you’d be in a grave,” he snaps, maybe too quickly, maybe with too much malice.  
  
But she doesn’t answer all the same.  
  
-*-  
  
Eventually he stops asking if she’s okay. He just hates making her lie, is all.  
  
-*-  
  
The first toy Shepard buys for her baby girl is a replica of the Normandy.  
  
Kaidan never says anything when he stumbles upon her with it, alone, laying on her back in the tall grass with her good hand flying it around in lazy circles against the stars above. It’s not like she ever notices he’s there anyway.


End file.
